Dishing the Dirt Read online

  Wearily, Ruby decided to forget about the whole thing and go home.

  She was just about to switch on the engine when a wire was slid around her neck and viciously pulled tight. Ruby was a strong woman and tried to get her fingers under the wire without success. With one dying hand, she punched the hazard warning lights before everything turned black.

  * * *

  Bill Wong put up his umbrella as he left headquarters. Agatha Raisin had been released an hour before, after what Bill considered a merciless grilling from Wilkes, who seemed to persist in thinking that Agatha was impeding police enquiries.

  As he made his way to his car, the rain suddenly switched off, as if some Olympian god had turned off a tap. Behind him he could hear the rumble of the police generator as it coped with the power cut.

  He saw a car with flashing hazard lights and approached it curiously in case someone was in trouble. He rapped on the driver’s window. He could see a dim figure at the wheel through the steamed-up glass. He opened the car door and Ruby’s lifeless body and horribly contorted face slid out halfway, held by the seat belt.

  * * *

  Agatha Raisin was awakened the following morning by Toni with the news that Simon had been arrested for the murder of Ruby Carson. The CCTV cameras in the square had filmed her going to Simon’s flat as had the one in the pedestrian area. But after the power cut, the cameras had stopped working.

  Agatha swung into action, hiring a criminal lawyer, and then arrived at police headquarters to find that an exhausted Simon had just been released. The messages from Ruby, which he still had on his mobile phone, showed he had not wanted to see her. Chief Superintendent Alistair White did not say he had been having an affair with Ruby but had said she had called him round to tell him of Agatha’s find and that she was waiting for Simon.

  He backed Simon’s story that he had heard insulting remarks from Ruby about himself through the open window.

  There was a tent over Ruby’s car in the car park. Simon told Agatha the police reckoned that the murderer had been tailing Ruby and had smashed the back window and climbed into the passenger seat. A garrote had been found lying on the floor. It had been made from cheese wire with polished cylindrical pieces of wood attached.

  “Surely there must be more than one person involved,” exclaimed Agatha.

  Despite the heat of the day, Simon shivered. He thought Ruby’s dead contorted face would haunt him until the end of his days. “I feel some twisted mind is playing cat and mouse with us and knows our every move,” he said.

  Agatha stared at him. “Bugs!” she said. “I wonder if my cottage is bugged? We’ve got a radio frequency detector in the office. Go and get it, Simon, and I’ll do a sweep of my home.”

  * * *

  When they arrived, Charles was on the kitchen floor, playing with the cats. Agatha signalled him to be quiet and led him out into the garden where she told him about Ruby’s murder and that they were going to sweep the cottage for bugs. “And what are my cats doing back here?” she asked.

  “Doris is working upstairs,” said Charles.

  “What! This isn’t cleaning day?”

  “She thought the moggies might like to see their home again. I asked her to change the sheets in the spare room. I’d better get her and we can ask her if anyone could have got into the house while you were away.”

  Charles came back after a few minutes and led Doris to the bottom of the garden where Simon and Agatha were waiting. Asked if anyone could possibly have got in to bug the house, Doris wrinkled her brow, and then said, “There was only the telephone man. Some time ago it was. He said there was a fault on some of the village phones and they were checking them all. Oh, dear, I went upstairs and left him to it. Big heavyset man with a grey beard and glasses. One of them foreign accents. Could ha’ been Polish.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Don’t call anyone to mind. I’m right sorry, Agatha. Didn’t cross my mind there would be anything up with him.”

  Agatha turned to Simon. “You’d better start sweeping for bugs. Start with the garden table and chairs.”

  They waited anxiously. Having finished with the garden furniture, Simon moved into the house. “Does he know what he’s doing?” asked Charles.

  “Yes, I get him to sweep the office from time to time,” said Agatha.

  “What puzzles me,” said Charles, “is why you haven’t been bumped off.”

  “You’ve forgotten. I was sent a poisonous bouquet.”

  “Maybe our murderer was sure you would recognise wolfsbane. If this place is bugged, then he would know you knew what the plant looked like. I think some psycho is playing with you, Agatha.”

  “That pseudo telephone man,” said Agatha. “It sounds like someone in disguise. What about Tris Davent? He’s got technical knowledge.”

  “You’d better tell the police about this, Aggie.”

  “What! And have to sit in that ghastly interview room again?”

  “Just phone Bill. The police may have more sophisticated equipment. Still, with any luck, Simon won’t find anything.”

  The sky above was turning darker. “I hope he finishes before it rains,” said Doris.

  “I’ll phone Bill if Simon finds anything,” said Agatha. “And how many times have I got to tell you not to call me Aggie! Jill’s brother is pretty stocky. Add a false grey beard and glasses and he could be our bugger. An East European accent is easy to fake.”

  “‘Bugger’ being a good word to describe the horrible man, whoever he is,” said Charles.

  A warm drop of rain fell on Agatha’s nose. “This is all we need,” she said. “Let’s get into the house and not say a word.”

  But when they entered, Simon was arranging four tiny bugs on the kitchen table. “All done, I hope,” he said. “One in the phone, one under the computer desk, one behind the bookshelves and one behind your headboard upstairs, Agatha.”

  “I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea,” said Doris.

  “Forget it. I’d like a gin and tonic,” said Agatha. “Get it for me, Charles, and I’ll phone Bill. He slipped me his mobile number so I won’t need to be trapped by Wilkes.”

  Bill said to wait and he would be right over to make another sweep of the cottage.

  Charles returned with Agatha’s gin and tonic. She raised her hand to take the glass and Charles noticed that her hand shook. He put the glass down on the table and said gently, “Not getting the shakes, are you? Maybe not a good idea to start on the booze.”

  “It’s not that,” said Agatha. “This whole case is creeping me out. Some madman is out there, laughing at me, treating me like an amateur fool. But you’re right, Charles. I am not going to start hitting the bottle. Pour it down the sink and make me a coffee instead. Are you all right, Simon?”

  “That’s why Ruby was murdered,” he said wretchedly. “Someone listened in to everything I told you about her.”

  “My copies of that ledger!” Agatha jumped to her feet and raced through to her desk and rummaged frantically around. She came back and announced, “It’s gone.”

  “So,” said Charles, “the murderer must have got back inside somehow. Let’s ask Doris.” Doris had gone back upstairs. “I’ll get her.”

  When Doris returned, Agatha asked, “Where do you leave the keys to this cottage?”

  “At the foot of the stairs in my handbag,” said Doris. “Oh, Agatha, dear. I’ve got a slip of paper in there with the burglar alarm code.”

  “So the bastard has been walking in and out when he felt like it,” said Charles. “He is playing with you because he could have let himself in at night and murdered you.”

  Agatha phoned the security firm which had installed the burglar alarm and left a message to come as soon as possible and change the code. She then phoned a locksmith and asked him to change the locks.

  * * *

  The police arrived, headed by Bill and Alice, who introduced two technicians.

  While the men got to work, the
y all moved back out to the garden, sheltering under the garden umbrella. Agatha told Bill about how the murderer had gained access to her cottage.

  “You should find yourself another cleaner,” said Alice.

  “Never!” cried Agatha. “It was an easy mistake. No one is more honest or hardworking than Doris.”

  The only thing Asian about Bill were his beautiful almond-shaped eyes, now crinkled up in distress. “Agatha,” he said. “Go away somewhere until all this is over. It’s not safe here for you.”

  “What would be the point of that?” said Agatha. “You may never find this murderer who is turning out to be the serial killer of the Cotswolds. I can’t leave my staff. They’re in danger, too.”

  Agatha’s phone rang. It was Phil Marshall. “I just dropped in to the office to get another camera and there is a young man here anxious to retain your services. He says he is Justin Nichols and Ruby was his stepmother during a previous marriage.”

  “I’d like to see him,” said Agatha, “but I can’t leave here just now.” She told Phil what they had discovered and then said, “Give him directions and tell him to get over here.”

  When she rang off, she told Bill about Justin and then turned to Simon. “Did she say anything about being married before?”

  “She said she was divorced,” said Simon. “But there may have been another marriage before the last one. I think she kept her married name, Carson, which follows that before that marriage she could have been married to someone called Nichols.”

  The technicians came out to the garden to say they had finished their work and it seemed as if Simon had found all the bugs. Bill turned to Simon. “I hope you wore gloves.”

  “Yes,” said Simon. “But if you plan on fingerprinting them, I bet our murderer wore gloves as well.”

  “We might be able to trace where they were bought. If you don’t mind, Agatha, we’ll stay on until this young man arrives. I’d like to hear what he has to say about Ruby.”

  Mrs. Bloxby arrived after the technicians had gone, saying she had been worried about village reports of police cars outside Agatha’s cottage. Agatha told her everything that had happened. Her gentle face creased with worry. “It’s as if someone is playing cat and mouse with you, Mrs. Raisin. But it does eliminate some suspects.”

  “Like who?” asked Agatha. “I don’t see Gwen Simple being able to do anything so sophisticated as planting bugs,” said the vicar’s wife. “Miss Bannister is dead. Mrs. Simpson was never a suspect. Mrs. Tweedy is too old and would not have the energy or the technical know-how.”

  “My money is still on Gwen Simple,” said Agatha. “She could have hired someone. I cannot believe for a moment she did not know what her murdering son was up to.”

  “We’ve had a watch on Gwen Simple for some time,” said Bill. “She’s had no strange callers, only people from the village of Ancombe. She helps out in the church and does a lot of good works.”

  “Humph!” snorted Agatha. “Could well be a smokescreen.”

  “You’re forgetting her ex,” said Charles. “Davent runs a computer shop.”

  “How are you getting on with that ledger of accounts?” asked Agatha. She did not want to say her copy was missing, knowing that the police would not appreciate her actions.

  “Don’t seem to lead anywhere,” said Bill. “But an awful lot of the entries are old. The ink’s faded. There are very few new ones.”

  “Any news from America? I’ll bet Jill was blackmailing one of her clients.”

  “It’s been a laborious task checking everyone from America, particularly those with addresses in Chicago and the photos and stuff you found, but so far, nothing sinister. Not one of the men the Chicago police contacted would claim they were being blackmailed and there are ones with the wallets said they had had their pocket picked in some bar, anywhere but at the hotel. They’re all married, you see.”

  Agatha clutched her shiny hair. “It could be anyone and we don’t have a clue,” she wailed. “I’m going to freshen up.”

  * * *

  “I’m losing it,” said Agatha to her bathroom mirror. “It’s never affected me like this before. Get a grip!”

  The day was humid and close. She showered and changed into a cool linen sheath and sandals and repaired her make-up.

  The doorbell rang as she was descending the stairs. “I’ll get it,” she called.

  “No you won’t,” said Bill, rushing to her side. “You don’t know who is out there.” Agatha stood back while he opened the door. She blinked. A young Adonis stood there with the watery sunlight gilding his blond hair. “I’m Justin Nichols,” he said.

  “Come in,” said Bill. “This is Agatha Raisin. I am Detective Sergeant Bill Wong.”

  “Where’s Phil Marshall?” asked Agatha.

  “He dropped me off and went back to the office,” said Justin.

  Justin followed them into the kitchen, where the others were sitting around the table. Agatha made the introductions, urged him to sit down, took a chair herself and stared at him. His hair was naturally wavy. His skin was white and his eyes, an intense blue with thick lashes. He was wearing an open-necked shirt as blue as his eyes. He was slim but athletic-looking.

  “How old are you?” asked Agatha.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “But Ruby Carson was in her early forties. Was your father much older than Ruby when he married her?”

  “Yes, he was fifty-five. I’m his only child. Mother had only been dead—she died of cancer—for two years when he met Ruby. She was only nineteen then. He was so much in love with her. But she up and divorced him two years later. He was devastated. He still obsesses about her and has commissioned me to employ you, Mrs. Raisin.”

  “What do you do, Mr. Nichols?” asked Alice Peterson.

  “I’m a computer programmer. I’m freelance and I am taking a break between contracts. Why are you all staring at me like that?”

  “Someone bugged my cottage,” said Agatha, ignoring a warning signal from Bill. “Would you have the know-how?”

  “No,” he said innocently, “but I’m sure if I studied how to do it, I could manage, but why would I?”

  “Did you like Mrs. Carson?” asked Bill.

  “I thought she was a selfish, ambitious woman,” he said. “But I’d do anything for my father. I resisted at first, asking why I should employ some village detective woman, but he persisted. Mind you, I did not expect to find you so attractive, Mrs. Raisin.”

  “Please call me Agatha.” Her eyes were shining.

  Surely not, thought Charles. He’s much too young. Maybe it’s just Agatha’s maternal instinct.

  “When was the divorce?” asked Bill.

  “Years ago. Ruby was in sales and marketing and she suddenly announced she was going to join the police force. That was when she became insanely ambitious. All she would talk about was how she was going to be police commissioner one day. Dad hardly ever saw her. But the divorce hit him hard.”

  “What does your father do?”

  “He’s the managing director of Superfoods. That’s how he met Ruby. She was doing the marketing for them.”

  Agatha suddenly wished they would all leave. “If you follow me into the office,” she said, “I’ll draw up the contracts.”

  “Your secretary has already done that,” said Justin.

  “Look here,” said Bill severely. “You are putting yourself in danger, young man. It is not only Mrs. Carson who has been murdered but other people as well! Whoever the murderer is, he seems to delight in getting rid of anyone who might help find out who he is. I strongly advise you to tear up the contracts and tell your father it is much too dangerous.”

  “I don’t see why,” said Justin. “I mean, I gather you’ve removed the bugs so no one will know Agatha is detecting on my behalf.”

  “Well, I’ve warned you,” said Bill. “We’ll be in touch, Agatha.”

  “I’d better go, too,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “My husband will be wondering what ha
s happened to me.”

  Agatha looked hopefully at Charles. “I’d better be off as well,” he said. He had planned to stay, but, after all, the beautiful young man would certainly not be romantically interested in Agatha, and his presence might take Agatha’s mind off her fears.

  “Simon,” said Agatha, “you’d better get on with that missing teenager case.”

  After Charles and Simon had gone, Agatha said reluctantly, “Leave it with me, Justin. Let me have your phone numbers and address. I’d better talk to your father as well.”

  She had planned to invite him to lunch but remembered in time that she had to wait at home for the locksmith and to have the code on the burglar alarm changed.

  “It’s lovely here,” said Justin with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one of these old thatched cottages. Look, the rain has stopped.”

  “I’ll be going now,” called Doris from the hall.

  Agatha rose to her feet and went to say goodbye.

  When she returned, the kitchen was empty. She found Justin sitting at the table in the garden with the cats on his lap. “It’s so quiet here,” he said.

  “I’m hungry,” said Agatha. “Would you like to stay for lunch?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “Italian food okay?”

  “Marvellous.”

  Agatha went in and phoned a local Italian restaurant that did deliveries and ordered two portions of escalope Milanese with salads and a bottle of Valpolicella.

  She was just about to join him in the garden when the doorbell rang. Agatha peered through the peephole and saw Toni’s pretty face looking back at her.

  No, she thought. One look at Toni and he’ll forget I even exist. She returned to the garden.

  Agatha had never been attracted to younger men before. She guiltily remembered having a crush on that beautiful schoolteacher in Winter Parva, the one murdered by Gwen’s son. Before she had always considered women who fell for men, just because of their looks, slightly … well … common. Yes, James was handsome but the same age as she was herself. Maybe Justin was gay. That was the trouble with beautiful men, they usually were.